


Document Management and Interpersonal Relationships

by wordyanansi



Series: Bellarke Fic Week - July 2015 [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke Fic Week, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clarke was asked what she wanted to do with her Bachelor of Fine Arts, she figured curation would be her wheelhouse. And then she started her Document Management unit and met Bellamy Blake. </p><p>The following is the account of the next thirteen weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Document Management and Interpersonal Relationships

Week One

Clarke returns home in a tempest of slamming doors and frustrated noises. Monty looks up from his book as she flops heavily on the couch next to him. He considers her for a moment before he speaks. Asking her if she had a bad day was only going to result in pissing her off further. But there was one question he knew might work.

“Wine?” Monty asks. Clarke rolls her head to the side and screws up her nose.

“Whisky?” she suggests instead.

“That bad?” Monty asks, and then pauses to contemplate the options. “The best I can offer is moonshine.” Clarke barks out a laugh.

“Okay, no day will ever be that bad,” Clarke tells him, a hint of a smile playing on her face, and he knew she was remembering the last time she’d had Monty and Jasper’s moonshine, or as she like to call it: paint thinner. Monty shrugged.

“Well then you’ll just have to make do with wine,” Monty responds, getting off the couch and heading towards the kitchen.  

“Do we have any barbecue crackers?” Clarke calls after him. Monty smirks as he pulls the wine glasses out of the cupboard.

“Are you saying barbecue crackers when you mean chocolate?” he questions. There was a pause as he poured the wine.

“Yes,” she admits begrudgingly. “There’s a guy. I might actually kill him. You’d help me bury a body, right?” Monty laughs, re entering the room carrying a block of chocolate and two full wine glasses.

“I think body-burying might be more Raven’s territory. Tell me about him,” Monty asks, as Clarke swallows a mouthful of wine. She grimaces.

“New prick in document management,” Clarke says, disgust evident in her voice. “With… hair,” she adds, vaguely indicated her head with a circular palm motion. “And he’s a prick.” Monty presses his lips together, definitely not smiling.

“Ah, so, he’s good looking then,” Monty says.  Clarke scowls.

“He’s so very pretty. And tall,” she says, like it’s a problem, and Monty tries valiantly not to laugh. Clarke glares at him. “And a fucking asshole.” The effort not to laugh becomes futile. Clarke scoffs derisively and takes another drink.

“So he disagrees with you?” Monty says, when he recovers.

“I’m not sure that he even disagrees with me so much as he enjoys being an asshole,” Clarke replies. “He had this… grin on his face. Like it was funny that I disagreed with him. And he was just… ugh!” Clarke throws her hands up in the air and slumps back on the couch, reaching for the chocolate. Monty nods beside her, smiling sympathetically.

“Well, semester is only twelve weeks,” he offers. Clarke scowls again. Monty presses his lips together again, fighting yet another smile. Clarke takes another sip of wine, and then looks into the middle distance thoughtfully, a smile spreading slowly across her features.

“I know that look,” Monty says apprehensively. “The last time I saw that look we ended up hiding from the police behind a dumpster after egging Finn’s car.” Clarke ignores him.

“I know what I’m going to do,” she says. “I know how I’m going to beat him.” Monty shakes his head and picks his book back up. There will be no more sense from Clarke Griffin tonight. She rustles around in her satchel and pulls up the reading list and her laptop and settles in to study.

  
  


Week Two

“Fucking princess and her fucking citations. Who the hell even cites off the reading list in a lecture,” Bellamy rants, stomping into his apartment. Octavia rolled her eyes at Miller.

“Same princess as last week?” Miller asks, having heard all about the blonde in the third row over drinks last week. Octavia sighs.

“It is Thursday, is it not?” she replies. Bellamy glares at them as he enters the kitchen, dodging around his sister as he reached for the fridge.

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” Miller comments, trying to play at innocent and doing a mediocre job of it. Bellamy scowls at him, cracking open the beer.

“She went beyond not just the required, but also the recommended reading list for citations. In a discussion during a lecture. Who does that?” he demands. Miller and Octavia exchange a look.

“You’re loving it, aren’t you?” Octavia asks dryly. Bellamy tries not to grin, but fails.

“Yeah, alright, I am. She’s awesome,” Bellamy admits happily. Miller shakes his head tiredly and Octavia smirks.

“Sounds like you’ve met your match, big brother,” she says, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“I’m not in love with her, she’s a worthy adversary,” Bellamy protests before taking a pull on his beer.

“You spent an awful lot of time talking about her blue eyes and her blonde hair when you were drunk last week for someone who doesn’t have a crush,” Miller points out. Bellamy chokes a little on his beer.

“Adversary. And I went home with the brunette,” Bellamy reminds him, walking out of the kitchen.

“You don’t remember the brunette’s name, so moot point,” Octavia returns. Bellamy pauses and turnes around, looking between the two of them.

“When we agreed Miller was moving in, I did not anticipate the two of you ganging up on me,” Bellamy says. “I don’t approve of these shenanigans.” Miller and Octavia grin back at him.

“You’re an arrogant shit, Bell. But we do love you,” Octavia tells him sweetly. Miller nods and shrugs, a surprising amount of emotion for the guy.

“I hate you both and I have to study,” Bellamy says, turning and walking away again. Octavia and Miller laughed at his retreating back. He was going to win their next encounter if it was the last thing he did.

  
  


Week Three

“That asshole!” Clarke grounds out, almost shaking, as she slumps down in the seat opposite Monty and Raven. “Son of a bitch got me.” Raven smirks and Monty sighs.

“Same asshole?” Monty asks. Raven raises her eyebrows.

“There’s a recurring asshole? This is serious,” she comments. Clarke makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat.

“It is serious. He’s an asshole. And he got me today. He out-researched me. Nobody out-researches me,” Clarke says seriously, with an edge of menacing. Monty presses his lips together tightly.

“Clarke, honey, I think you might be over-reacting to this,” he tries carefully. Raven and Clarke give him matching looks of disbelief and he raises his hands in surrender.

“The one with the hair? In document management?” Raven asks. Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Yes. That one,” Clarke says, as though the words pained her. “He’s the worst. And I want to cause him actual physical harm.” Monty covers his face with his hand, but Raven leans forward.

“Okay Griffin, what’s the plan? I know a great spot for body disposal,” Raven says. Clarke grins at her, Monty adds his other hand to his face, trying not to think of ways to get a decent alibi in a hurry.

“You’re the best, Rae. You always know just what to say,” Clarke tells her sincerely. Monty tries not to be worried as Raven grins smugly.

“He got me on the life cycle of digital documents,” Clarke continues, indignant. “I’m so… it doesn’t feel like he should have been able to get me on that. It’s so basic!” Raven and Monty exchange a look.

“You seem a little fixated on beating this guy when it’s not actually a competition,” Monty suggests. Raven and Clarke snap their heads to glare at him in unison.

“Christ. You’re both terrifying. I’m going to get you both coffee and pray for my immortal soul,” Monty says standing up.

“Chai, please, Monty, you’re the best,” Clarke calls out after him. Raven raises an eyebrow at he friend.

“He might have a point regarding your fixation though,” Raven offers. “You said the same thing about me and Wick.” Clarke scoffs.

“You and Wick are different. He adored you. It was friendly banter. This is a war. He went out of his way to out-research after I beat him last week,” Clarke retorts. “This asshole is coming after me. He will not win this war.”

  
  


Week Four

Octavia eyes Bellamy as he walked through the lounge room. He has a sort of vagueness to him that Octavia didn't recognise. Bellamy took up rooms with his emotions, even when he was bottling them up, or trying to hide how he felt, rooms would fill with his silence. Octavia chews the inside of her lower lip for a moment.

"How was document management?" she asks him, keeping her tone neutral. He looks at her, and shakes his head slightly.

"She's... indomitable," Bellamy says, his voice sounding like he was stunned. Octavia raises her eyebrows, and understands that the vagueness was awe.

"I asked you about the class, not the princess," Octavia points out, trying to keep the sass out of her voice, and failing miserably. She has an overabundance of sass. Bellamy rolls his eyes at her.

"Class was fine, I did the readings and knew everything the lecturer said. Kane's good, but I'm reading pretty widely," he replies. Octavia grins.

"Well, if she doesn't get you laid, at least the princess is going to have a positive impact on your grade," she teases him.

"I don't want to sleep with her," Bellamy tries. Octavia raises her eyebrows and he sighs. "I don't just want to sleep with her," he amends.

"Did you ever think that maybe picking fights with her wasn't the best way to get her attention?" Octavia asks kindly. Bellamy wipes his face with his hand.

"It was an accident. And now I can't stop," Bellamy says. "And... I think she enjoys it. Arguing with me, I mean." Octavia shakes her head.

"Bro, you know I love you. And for all your one-night stand game, you really know nothing about women," Octavia tells him. Bellamy scowls, but Octavia can see the agreement in it. "So, what are you going to do?" she asks. Bellamy tilts his head back and stares at the roof for a moment, and then he grins, and looks at his sister.

"I've got it," Bellamy says. Octavia is pretty sure he doesn't, and she makes her doubt clear in her expression. "I'm going to agree with her," he explains. Octavia laughs at him.

"Good luck with that," she says, and Bellamy pulls himself off the couch and head to his room to study.

  
  


Week Five

Monty comes home on Thursday after his date to find Clarke blankly staring at the television. At least the television was on, he supposed, even if it was on the third and arguably worse Die Hard movie. The last time he came home to find her like this (the television had been off) had been about a month after they'd "met Raven", their poorly constructed euphemism for ignoring how they'd met Raven (fucking Finn).

"Clarke," Monty says, sitting down beside her. He wants to ask her what's wrong, but it's always been the worse question to ask Clarke. So he keeps it to her name, and hopes she tells him what's up. She rolls her head along the back of the couch to look at him. The light that normally appeared behind her eyes wasn't quite there like it usually is. He wonders how bad it could be.

"He agreed with me," Clarke says absently. Monty frowns. Thursday. The him that exists on Thursdays. He sighs with relief.

"Christ, Clarke, I thought someone had died," Monty exclaims.

"He agreed with me," she says again. "He... he defended me, my points, to the class." Monty smiled at her.

"So Raven might have been right about him," he says softly. Clarke frowned and swallowed thickly.

"I don't know," Clarke replies. "But it was... surreal." Monty kept smiling at her, and brushed her hair back. He was wondering if he should offer some form of alcohol or comfort food, but she interrupted his thoughts with a jolt.

"Son of a bitch was messing with me," she says, her eyes widening, her voice full of shock and awe. "Son of a goddamned bitch." Monty laughs at her, pulling away and shaking his head.

"You're ridiculous. I'm going to go and read the new industry standards for chemical storage now," Monty tells her standing up. Clarke glares at him.

"I'm serious, there is something weird going on with him. If you don't believe me, audit the next lecture I have with him," Clarke says stubbornly.

"Clarke, I love you, but your personal drama with "the asshole" is not going to make me bunk off work to attend a lecture I have zero interest in," Monty says, over his shoulder. Clarke pouts at him, but he just laughs at her again and disappears down the hallway.

  
  


                            Week Six

Miller finds Bellamy at their local. He hadn't replied to messages this afternoon, and Octavia had called him, scared. There was a time when he would have been scared for Bellamy too, just after his mother's death and when Octavia had been taken from him. But life had changed the second Bellamy had gotten her back, and his best friend became the kind of man who made people want to be better than they were. Still, Miller went looking for him anyway, not that it took him long.

 

Miller sits on the stool beside Bellamy, who was nursing a tumbler of whisky on the rocks. He signals Murphy behind the bar, another old friend, and Murphy pulls him a beer.

"You're meant to be at work," Bellamy says to his whisky. Miller shrugs.

"Octavia was worried and my boss likes me," he says, and then he waits. Bellamy would talk, or he wouldn't. He drinks his beer slowly, thinking about a boy with a shy smile and honest eyes that he was currently working up the nerve to move beyond casually dating.

"She didn't say anything," Bellamy says eventually. Miller is slightly lost. And then he remembers that it's Thursday.

"The princess?" Miller asks. Bellamy nods. "You finally asked her out?" Miller thinks that Bellamy wants to scoff, or look at him, but can't find the energy. He's learned his friend's micromovements like a second language over the years, and he knows that Bellamy thinks it was a stupid question, of course he hasn't.

"She didn't say anything for the entire lecture," Bellamy elaborates. "She sat there, for two hours, without saying a single word. I even said some really dumb shit to get her to correct me. She didn't react." Miller raised his eyebrows.

"That does not sound like your princess," Miller says quietly. Bellamy nods, still staring at his whisky.

"No," he says, almost absently, "it's not." Miller sits in silence beside his friend a little longer, finishing his beer. He's known Bellamy most of his life, and there are few times that something has hit him this hard. Bellamy talks good game about being an asshole, but he's also one of the most kind hearted guys Miller knows. Though he'd probably punch him for saying that outloud. If it were someone else, he'd ask what they were going to do about it, or ask why they were letting some random chick in a lecture get to them by not speaking when they've only been arguing for the past month and a half. But it's Bellamy, and he finds he's not quite sure what to say. So he says nothing, just waits. Bellamy finishes his whisky.

"The thing is, I don't know if she's okay and just messing with me, the next step of our game, or if she's genuinely not okay," Bellamy says. "But... I don't know." Miller considers his friend.

"You think she's not okay," Miller states. Bellamy shrugs.

"I think... I thought she enjoyed it too, the arguing. I don't think she'd be able to be quiet if she was okay," he replies. Then he looks up at Miller, his face shining with honesty, and Miller understands perfectly.

"You really like her, don't you?" Miller asks. Bellamy huffs a laugh.

"I'm not okay that she's not okay," Bellamy says. "And it's stupid, and dumb, and we've never spoken outside of class." Miller sighs as Murphy migrates towards them, noting their empty drinks.

"You mopey bastards want another drink?" Murphy asks. Bellamy glares at him, but signals "yes" with his hand. Miller nods and doesn't smile, but he thinks about it.  And then Miller has a thought.

"Do you even know her name at this point?" Miller asks, interested. He's never heard him say it. Bellamy scowls at him again.

"Of course I know her fucking name," Bellamy snaps bitterly, and then he returns his focus to his whisky and Miller and Murphy exchange  a look. Murphy goes back to the other end of the bar, and Miller takes a pull of his beer, knowing that the conversation was probably over, and that if he waited another ten minutes Bellamy would suggest playing darts or pool, and then everything would go back to normal.

  
  


                        Week Seven

Clarke leans against the wall outside the door of the lecture theatre with her arms folded and her mouth in a tight angry line. She'd needed to get out quickly and get a moment of fresh air before she had to face this new trial; before she had to face the asshole. Who, she supposes, she probably ought to start referring to by his actual name if she was going to work with him. First her mother digging into her about her career path, making fun of her fine art degree and calling her a ‘perpetual student’ who wants to avoid the ‘real world’ at last week’s god awful work thing, and now this. Fucking group projects. Fucking group projects with assigned partners. Fucking asshole. He steps through the doorway grinning smugly.

"Hey princess, looks like it's you and me for this one," he says, stating the obvious. She blinks, attempting to keep her expression neutral. She considers, briefly, being petty and correcting his precision of language.

"Yes," she says instead. "Do you have a topic preference yet?" His smile turned into a smirk.

"Actually, I do. I was thinking about looking at document preservation. I'm a history major, so I tend to view assignments through that lens where possible," the asshole tells her. Of course he's a fucking history major, she thinks.

"Storage and ease of use?" Clarke asks, because if she's honest, she was thinking about looking at the same thing, but she doesn't particularly want to give him the satisfaction of reading her mind. He nods.

"Yeah. I mean, it's all well and good preserving an ancient document, but if no one can use it, or even look at it, what's the point?" he says, earnest, like this is something he really cares about. She tries not to scowl just because she agrees and she likes the way he sounds when he talks about the things he cares about. This isn't the voice he uses when he's in class, arguing with her, and she hates liking him more than she already does.

"So, when are you free to work on it?" Clarke asks, pushing herself off the wall and starting to walk towards the nearest exit. The asshole falls into step beside her, walking in sync despite his height advantage.

"You're happy with the topic?" he asks her. "Because we don't have to do what I want if you have a better idea." Clarke looks up at him.

"No, it's fine. I was thinking along the same lines," she admits, because it seems rude not to. He smiles at her. It's small and honest, and probably the most genuine thing she's ever seen him do. Her stomach clenches. It's probably time to stop pretending that she doesn't like him. He looks at her like she's a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

"Sometimes I think you actually hate me, but mostly I think you like arguing with me," the (probably not actually an) asshole says, and then he pauses, trying to decide if he should say the next bit, but Clarke waits, refusing to make it easier for him. "If we're going to work together on this, I think you should know that I like you a lot, and I like arguing with you." Clarke finds herself smiling and ducking her head. It's not something she can control, and she wonders if she's blushing.

"Okay," she says, still not looking at him. She needs another moment to collect herself. He waits, still walking beside her.

"When do you want to meet to work on this?" Clarke asks at the same time as he says, "So do you actually hate me or not?" They stare at each other for a moment, waiting. He breaks first.

"Tomorrow morning? In the library? I like the second floor study tables," he offers. Clarke swallows.

"I don't hate you," she admits, and he grins like an idiot, and she likes him more. "10 AM okay for you?" He nods.

"It's as study date," he confirms. "See you tomorrow, Clarke."

"Bye Bellamy," Clarke returns. He starts off in another direction, and she watches him go for a moment. It's the first time she's spoken to him outside of class, and the first time she's heard him say her name. It doesn't mean anything, Clarke tells herself, heading towards the carpark. It doesn't mean anything.

  
  


                    Mid-Semester Break

"Where are you going?" Miller asks from his position on the couch. He's eating cereal and watching some sort of weird anime with an Asian guy Bellamy hasn't seen before curled in next to him.

"Study date," Bellamy replies to Miller, and then he looks at other guy. "Hi, I'm Bellamy. Miller's housemate." The guy looks at Miller, shy and awkward, looking for help, but Miller doesn't say anything.

"Monty," he introduces himself. "Miller's.... boyfriend?" Monty cuts his eyes to the man beside him he nods solidly, small smile playing on the corners of his mouth, and Monty beams.

"Cool," Bellamy says. "Tell O I'll be back by dinner. I've gotta go. I'm meeting the princess at the library." Miller snorts.

"Study date, huh?" Miller teases, and Monty raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Girlfriend?" Monty asks. Miller barks out a laugh and Bellamy scowls.

"God, no," Miller says. "He wishes." Bellamy sighs.

"Will you kindly shut the fuck up, asshole? I could raise your rent, you know," Bellamy says dryly. But Miller just scoffs at him.

"You should probably find a way to ask her out before this project ends," Miller offers. "Or it's going to be harder to get a date." Bellamy thinks about this for a moment, and then remembers Miller definitely not talking about how he was trying to convert his flirting friendship with Monty into a relationship while drunk one night two weeks ago, and decides turnabout is fairplay.

"Says you. How long did it take you to step up?" Bellamy says, Monty looks curious, and Miller scowls.

"Shut up. Go study with the girl you have a massive crush on so you can pass your course," Miller says. "And ask her out." Bellamy sighs.

"Look, I got her to admit that she didn't hate me the other week. That's progress. And I told her liked arguing with her," Bellamy defended himself.

"You're an asshole, and an idiot," Miller says, and then Monty's eyes go wide, as if he's having some sort of intense realisation. Bellamy does not know the guy well enough to stick around for it. He takes two steps towards the door when he hears Monty ask Miller if Bellamy's studying info science at Ark U. He pauses as Miller says yes and asks why.

"I think your housemate is my housemate's asshole," Monty says. "Clarke said he called her princess in her latest tirade." Bellamy returns to the room to stare at Monty. He looks between Monty and Miller slowly.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Bellamy says slowly, half horror, half disbelief. "You live with Clarke Griffin?" Monty nods, gleeful grin on his face.

"This is priceless," Miller says, equally gleeful. Bellamy takes a moment to process the new information.

"So, she talks about me, huh?" Bellamy says, and Monty laughs while Miller shakes his head in amused disappointment.

"All bad things," Monty promises. Bellamy grins.

"Hey, at least she's thinking about me," he says, and turns back towards the door. "Do not text her a warning. I want to see the horror on her face for myself," he tosses over his shoulder.

"Bros before hoes," Monty calls out to him.

"I'll make it worth your while," Bellamy replies from the door.

"I'm easily bought," Monty responds.

"That is very relevant information," Miller says.

"Stay safe," Bellamy calls out, leaving the house smiling. He's looking forward to telling the princess all about how their friends are dating. She's going to be so indignant and he can't wait.

  
  


                        Week Eight

Clarke has to admit that Bellamy's actually kind of great. The admission still eats at her, but they've had a couple of study sessions together now, and he's always been polite and funny and helpful. It's probably the first group project she's ever done where she doesn't feel like she's carrying the group. Instead they seem to have fallen into this weirdly functional partnership, and are dividing the work equally, and sharing information easily. It's almost like second nature.

 

It has not helped that Monty keeps telling her how great Bellamy is, though she has a suspicion that has more to do with the fact that he's dating Bellamy's housemate, and less to do with Bellamy. Of course, the things Monty says are... well, they are the things that Bellamy does not say, and she doesn't think he'd love that she knew all of these things about him. Like how he got custody of his sister, and still works to pay the difference between both of their studies and scholarships. Like the fact he wants to work in a museum, but he wants to run education programs for kids and the he community. Like how when Miller needed somewhere to live, Bellamy opened his doors without reservation, despite the fact he was still raising his sister. It's harder to put the venom in the word asshole than it used to be.

 

She's going over her notes in the library, at their table, and she has the realisation that, aside from actually putting their notes into document form and tidying up the edges, they're kind of finished. The projects not due until week twelve, but... they probably don't even need to meet face to face again. She can finish data entry and email him the draft to proof. She's not quite sure how that makes her feel, and she's still thinking about it when Bellamy takes his seat beside her.

"Hey Clarke, what's up?" he asks pleasantly, pulling his notes out of his bag and depositing on the table. She looks at him, smiling easily at her like he's actually enjoyed working with her. Like he's happy to be here with her. She wonders how much she's projecting, and then she wonders when exactly this happened.

"I was just thinking that we might be pretty much finished," Clarke says, carefully, her tone light. Bellamy's face hardens.

"Oh," he says, and then he stares at her. She gestures to the notes.

"Yeah, I know, right? We've really smashed it out. I can add all of our notes from last time into the draft, and then email it to you for proof reading. I mean, the only thing we need to come up with is our final recommendations for storage and preservation methods," Clarke elaborates. She doesn't know why she's so nervous. This is a good thing. But it's clear that he doesn't think that it is, and she's not entirely sure that it is either. She looks down at her notes and waits for him to say

something. But the silence drags out just long enough to make her uncomfortable, and she caves.

“I think we should conclude with some discussion about the importance of preserving the original copies, but finding ways to make them accessible,” she offers. “Digital archiving using LOCKSS networks, perhaps? I mean, making a statement like that out of context like that isn’t useful but I think-”

“Right. Sorry. It’s just… I’ve enjoyed working with you on this,” Bellamy says. “Kind of sad it’s over.” Clarke smiles at him, pleased that the feeling is mutual.

“Well, we’ll just have to keep studying together, won’t we?” she replies. Bellamy flinches almost imperceptibly. “Study buddies,” she reaffirms, and Bellamy works a smile onto his face.

“Study buddies,” he repeats, but she can tell his heart’s not in it, and she wonders if she said something wrong. There is another pause, but he’s not looking at her anymore, he’s staring at the notes in front of him.

“I think you’re right about LOCKSS as a recommendation,” Bellamy says after another moment. “It’s secure and minimises data loss. And we’ve already agreed about scanning using intelligent character recognition with editable fields.” Clarke breathes a sigh of relief, and starts shifting through her papers to find a chapter to reference, moment of awkwardness over.

  
  


Week Nine

Bellamy’s pretty sure he’s blown it, because girls that want to sleep with you don’t normally describe your relationship as being “buddies”, study or otherwise. And while he might not have actually asked her out, as Octavia had helpfully pointed out, he was heading in that direction when she’d said the thing about being buddies. Which felt like it was probably a very nice way of saying ‘let’s stay friends’ and not ‘I want to have your babies’. God, he wanted to have her babies. But he also really didn’t want to be that asshole who whined about the friendzone and how nice guys don’t get the girl. And Clarke was great, just as, you know, a human being. She was the kind of person he wanted to keep in his life, providing he could not make it weird. Or any weirder.

 

He was still thinking about this as he arrived home to find his lounge room full of people and food. He leaned in the doorway, surveying the scene, as Miller and Octavia seemed to be engaged in battle over kimchi while Monty laughed, clutching his sides and… Clarke was in his lounge room. Laughing with tears running down her cheeks as Miller and Octavia kept trying to one up the other about why they should get more kimchi. He swallowed thickly, taking a moment to compose himself before announcing his presence.

“I think my party invitation got lost in the mail,” Bellamy says dryly, and everyone in the room pauses, and looks up at him.

“Sorry, Monty said he was cooking a Korean feast tonight when we ran into them at the grocery store, and Clarke said he always made way too much, and we just kind of ended up inviting them over to cook for us,” Octavia explained. “And you really need to try his kimchi. It’s unbelievable.”

“And I should get it because I’m the boyfriend,” Miller interjects.

“It’s all about the fermentation. Five days,” Monty says, aiming for sage and ending up giggling at the end. Clarke snorts.

“Y’all can keep the kimchi. I swear to god I would marry him for his tok bokki,” she counters. Bellamy laughs and takes in the scene before him.

“Okay, so I’m going to want to try everything, because no one in this house can cook for shit,” Bellamy announces, sitting on the floor cross legged. Octavia hands him a plate, while scoffing.

“I can cook,” she protests.

“Grilled cheese is not cooking,” Miller says, and then they’re laughing again.

 

Bellamy tries not to be creepy about looking at Clarke. He hasn’t really seen her outside of lectures and study dates, so he hasn’t heard her laugh until she’s cried, hasn’t caught the fondness in her eyes when she looks at Monty. He’s seen her crack jokes, and her eyes sparkle with mischief, and blaze with indignation. But she’s almost like another person, somehow more, and he’s more gone on her than ever. He’s really glad he’s not keeping track of the list of reasons why he’s an idiot over her, because he’s pretty sure it would be embarrassingly long at this point.

 

The night ends half-way through binge watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine (which had included much bickering over which character they were most like). Octavia starts getting text messages and disappears into her room (Bellamy’s pretty sure she’s got a secret boyfriend), Miller and Monty curl further and further into each other until they disappear down the hallway to Miller’s room. Clarke is curled up on his couch, under a throw rug, and he finds himself on the opposite end of the couch.

“I should go,” she says softly, not looking at him.

“One more episode,” he offers, and she nods. She falls asleep, curled up on the couch before the end of the episode, and Bellamy finds himself studying the softness of her expression, and the noises she makes. Octavia crosses through the lounge on the way to the kitchen as Bellamy is turning off the television to go to bed. She pauses and looks at the sleeping Clarke, and then at her brother.

“So,” Octavia asks softly. “Are you just going to let her break your heart, or are you going to tell her?” Bellamy looks at his sister, and he’s pretty sure his expression says it all. Octavia sighs.

“At least spend less time with her until you’re over it,” Octavia says, resigned. It’s good advice, Bellamy thinks, as he makes sure Clarke has another blanket available and a pillow within reach. And he’d take it, except he’s pretty sure he’s not getting over it.

  
  


Week Ten

“I’m pretty sure Bellamy’s mad at me,” Clarke says, apropos of nothing, to Monty and Miller as they channel hop, trying to find something they can all agree on. Monty turns off the television and looks at her.

“You’re joking, right?” Monty asks. Miller, too, has his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Clarke shifts uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

“He cancelled our study date this week,” Clarke tries. “And he didn’t sit with me in the lecture.” Monty and Miller exchange a glance that is unreadable to Clarke. She doesn’t think it’s ridiculous presumption that Bellamy might be mad at her. She wasn’t always the easiest to get along with, and he’d been distant ever since they’d finished their group work, really, but even more so since last week when she’d slept on his couch.

“He’s not mad at you,” Miller says simply. And Clarke likes that about Miller, the fact that he keeps it simple; grounded. He’s a good match for Monty, who can lose track of reality sometimes., lost in his own head.

“Then why is he avoiding me?” she asks. She wishes they hadn’t turned the television off, because this conversation feels way more serious than it needs to be. Monty rolls his eyes and shakes his head and Miller sighs.

“Why don’t you ask Bellamy that?” Monty asks. Clarke purses his lips, thinking about it  for a moment.

“I could, I suppose. He didn’t reply to my last text though. And you’re always telling me how socially awkward I can be,” Clarke points out. Her impulse to say what she’s thinking has gotten her into trouble more than once and Monty shakes his head again.

“For a smart person, you can be really oblivious sometimes,” Monty says. Miller nudges him, as if to remind his boyfriend just how oblivious he is sometimes, and Monty head butts him back gently. Clarke smiles at them, likes how well they suit each other. She’d been worried for Monty, after Jasper and everything that had happened, but it had clearly been unnecessary.

“Thanks for nothing,” Clarke replies. “Seriously. Nothing.”

“Send him a message,” Monty tells her. “And don’t mope. Anyone would think you liked him.” Clarke rolled her eyes, and ignored the alarming ‘caught out’ feeling she had.

“Yes, concern for a friendship that I have come to value is obviously a thinly masked declaration of love,” Clarke deadpans, and Monty snorts in response. Clarke looks over at Miller, wondering if he has any insight into his housemate, but he just shrugs.

“Bellamy can get in his own head sometimes,” Miller says. “But you should just talk to him about it.” Clarke sighs and excuses herself to her room, leaving the lovebirds on the couch. She wonders if messaging him is really a good idea, if the stiffness he’d had two weeks ago was more about not wanting to continue their friendship outside of class, and her being at his house had made him uncomfortable.

 

In the end, she sends him a message, finding his phone number under “asshole” in his phone. She really needs to change that. She screws up her mouth, thinking about what to write that doesn’t sound annoying or pathetic.

>Turns out Thursdays sans arguing with you are kind of boring. Who knew?

< Go figure. So glad I make your life less boring, princess.

Clarke smirked, ‘princess’ only seemed to enter his vernacular these days when he was being sarcastic or teasing. So he wasn’t mad at her, at least, she reasoned. She suddenly had the urge to invite him out for coffee. No text books or studying, just coffee. But they hadn’t really done that before, except for that night at his place when everything started feeling weird. So she left it alone and figured that if nothing else, she’d see him next Thursday in class.

  
  


Week Eleven

After a certain amount of pointed looks from Miller when he’d come back last week from Clarke and Monty’s place, Bellamy figured it was probably time to come clean with her. He had some mixed feelings about the fact she’d been upset and thinking he was mad at her, to be honest. Happy she was thinking about him at all, really, and that she missed him. Annoyed he’d upset her. But… also kind of encouraged. Not to say that he thought she was reciprocally pathetic over him, but just that she wouldn’t freak out if he had the conversation with her. And if he was being honest, last Thursday had really sucked for him too. He missed her. Which was how he found himself sitting beside her in the lecture, trying to focus on the lecture and not the notes she was writing. This was proving quite difficult because the notes she was writing on the slide printouts were genuinely hilarious, and largely directed at how pretentious she thought the lecturer was. He’d been unable to cover his snort of laughter when she had written ‘oh my god no microfilm is expensive and outdated you fucking moron’, and had been rewarded with a grin from Clarke and a glare from Kane.

 

The lecture is winding down, and she’s clearly not giving her all to note taking, so he knocks her hand out of the way and writes: want to grab coffee after this? She touches her pen to her lip, thinking. Aren’t we studying after this anyway? she writes. Bellamy wonders if she’s brushing him off or if she’s genuinely curious. Instead of studying, he writes. All my final assignments are written, I assume yours are too. Clarke makes a small noise that sounds like a quiet snort. Of course I have, asshole, she writes, and his heart clenches. But she isn’t finished. Coffee it is, she adds, and then she smiles at him, and he smiles back. And then he frowns. He hears Octavia’s voice in his head reminding him that he has not just asked her out on a date. He has converted a study session into a cup of coffee between friends. So while it’s nice that she wants to hang out with him, it really isn’t that much of an accomplishment.

He glances up and sees that Kane has moved onto the conclusion slides, and a quick check of his notes and the time tells him they have about six minutes left. He takes a deep breath, realises this might be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done, and rationalises that he’s been unable to actually verbalise this shit to her in eleven weeks, and he might never be able to. So he knocks her hand out of the way where she’s drawing what appears to be a cartoon of Kane with horns, so he can write on her notes again. By coffee I mean a date, he writes, and then he feels slightly ill and finds that he can’t quite look at her to see her reaction. Out of the corner of his eyes she seems to be paralysed and staring at the note he’s written. Paralysis is, he assumes, generally not a good sign when you ask a girl out. He spends the next six minutes panicking and reviewing exit strategies.

 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to just say something about how it was worth a shot and coffee as friends, then, yeah? But when Kane dismisses them, his body betrays him and he exits the lecture theatre as quickly as possible without looking back. He clears the building is heading toward the parking lot when he hears her calling his name. He considers not stopping, but he does, turning around to see her storming towards him, the picture of fury.

“What the fuck was that?” Clarke demands, shoving him the shoulder as she comes to a stop just inside his personal space.

“I thought that was kind of obvious,” Bellamy points out. “I asked you on a date.” Clarke narrows her eyes.

“On my fucking lecture notes,” Clarke reminds. He grins at that.

“Well, you didn’t seem to using them for their intended purpose,” Bellamy tries, but she speaks over him.

“And then you fucking run out without waiting for an answer like a fucking asshole,” Clarke snaps, volume just short of shouting. At this, Bellamy feels vaguely ill again, and he ducks his head.

“Well,” he begins, but finds that he doesn’t really have the words to continue. He looks back at Clarke, who is standing in front of him, arms akimbo, glare on intense, waiting for an answer.

“Well, what? You wanted to take it back? You were joking and it backfired? You meant it and you’re too goddamned chickenshit to wait for the answer?” she demands, but her voice is quieter, and if he’s not mistaken, he can hear the edge of hurt in it. So he looks at her, expression honest. He does, he knows, owe her this, if nothing else.

“No answer seemed like an answer,” he explains. “I didn’t want to make it weird, and I was scared I had, so I panicked.” Clarke’s glare seems to be softening, but she still looks annoyed, and he kind of wants to kiss her, because she wants to stay mad at him, and he thinks he’s definitely an idiot.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Clarke informs him. “And stupid. You kind of caught me off guard.” Bellamy raises his eyebrows hopefully.

“Oh?” he says. She tries to up the intensity, but it’s not working, and her scowl seems to be trying to turn itself into a smile. He definitely wants to kiss her.

“Yes. You could have waited for the shock to fade so I could respond,” she says, petulant. Bellamy nods, processing this new information, and he rolls his lips inward and frowns, trying to fight his smile.

“So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t take either your silence or your anger as an answer to the question,” he asks, carefully, making sure he’s getting his facts straight. He really fucking hopes he’s getting his facts straight. “And that possibly despite evidence to the contrary you might want to go on a date with me?” Clarke’s working really hard not to smile, to keep her scowl in place, and it’s a losing battle. Bellamy feels hope rise up in him as he loses the battle to contain his own smile.

“Maybe,” she says, petulant again, and he figures that that probably means yes.

“Just so you know,” Bellamy tells her. “While I did that badly, I do want to still be friends if you don’t want to date me. You’re pretty awesome as a human being, and Octavia needs more awesome female friends.” Clarke looks at him skeptically.

“So you’d want to be friends with me because of Octavia,” Clarke asks. Bellamy inhales through his nose. He really needs to stop hedging and actually say the things he’s thinking.

“Mainly, I want to keep you in my life however you want to be in it,” Bellamy confesses. “I basically only started arguing with you to get your attention. And I’ve basically only liked you more and more as time’s gone on. So yeah, you’re one of my favourite people, and I want to keep you around. Ideally, I also get to be your boyfriend. But either way.” If he didn’t know better, he’d say Clarke was blushing, even as she lost the battle not to smile. She shoves him with her shoulder, and takes two steps in the direction of the parking lot, then she stops and looks at him over her shoulder.

“Well are you coming?” she asks, impatient. Bellamy grins.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he says. And then, “I’m driving though. Monty says you drive like you’re in South Africa.” She shoves him again.

“Shut up,” she tells him, affectionately. He reaches out and takes her hand, and she rotates it, slipping it more comfortably into his.

 

Week Twelve

“Thank Christ!” Clarke exclaims, flopping on to Bellamy’s couch. “No more document management. Doc man is the worst.” Octavia snorts out a laugh and Bellamy looks offended.

“Uh, I think you mean doc man is awesome,” Bellamy says. “On a sentimental level.” Clarke rolls her eyes and swats at him.

“Well, like I said to Bell in week three, at least you’re both going to have great marks thanks to your weird ass foreplay,” Octavia points out, teasing. Clarke laughs, and Bellamy looks even more offended.

“I think I have said something about people ganging up on me in my own house before,” Bellamy replies. Octavia rolls her eyes and Clarke leans over to kiss his cheek.

“It’s only because you’re an idiot,” she tells him sweetly. “And since week three, huh?” Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Yes, everyone knows I’m pathetic. Shall we move on to what we’re going to have for dinner?” he asks, as Monty and Miller enter the room.

“Did someone say dinner?” Monty asks hopefully. “I’m so hungry. Work today was the worst.” He looks at Clarke. “Also Raven says to call her.” Clarke nods in response.

“You have other friends?” Octavia asks, scandalised.

“Well we did exist prior to you meeting us,” Monty says. “I’m sure you have friends that we don’t know about.” There is something pointed in Monty’s voice and his sister blushes. Bellamy grins.

“Ha! Secret boyfriend. I knew it,” Bellamy says, triumphant. Octavia scowls. He shares a look of glee with Miller about their impending shovel talk.

“No,” Octavia protest. “Guys. No.”

“What?” Clarke asks. Bellamy grins at her.

“Ever since Octavia’s first date,” he begins.

“I hate you both,” Octavia cuts in, bitter.

“We have a tradition,” Miller picks up the story. “We like to give him a light hazing, you know, welcome him to the family.” Octavia throws a pillow at him.

“You guys suck. By ‘light hazing’ the generally mean staging the entryway to look like a murder scene, and completely terrorising my dates,” Octavia elaborates for Monty and Clarke, who laugh.

“Well,” Clarke says. She’s got this smile that Bellamy knows means that she’s planning something and whatever it is is devious and he’s going to go along with it. “You could invite him over for dinner tonight. And I’ll invite Raven. Impromptu pizza party?”

“Yes! Not time for hazing set up!” Octavia exclaims, and then looks pleadingly at her brother. He’s never been able to resist her puppy dog eyes.

“And Cards Against Humanity?” Clarke adds, sweetening the pot. Bellamy plays at huffing and giving in.

“Fine, pizza party it is,” Bellamy agrees, sounding reluctant. Octavia squeals and leaves the room, presumably to call her boyfriend, and Monty pulls out his phone to text Raven.

“You’re devious, Clarke Griffin,” Bellamy tells her. She grins wickedly, and he can’t resist kissing her. Miller throws the pillow at them.

“I thought you’d like that,” she says as she tosses the pillow back at Miller.

“You just agreed to be welcoming and nice to Octavia’s new boyfriend. I know being in love changes a dude, but that’s a little ridiculous, man,” Miller informs him. Clarke grins at him.

“See, you and Octavia might think that. But I’m looking forward to the boyfriend trying to say the answer to world hunger is pacman guzzling cum with his girlfriend’s brother in the room,” she explains.

“And this is why my girlfriend is awesome,” Bellamy says, pulling her close to him, loving the way she folded into his side. Miller is staring at her with a mixture of awe and horror.

“She’s terrifying,” Miller says. He turns to Monty. “You didn’t tell me that your housemate was terrifying.” Monty shrugged.

“You get used to it,” Monty says. “Besides, she only uses her power for good and light hearted mischief.”

 

Forty minutes later they’ve been joined by Raven, and Octavia’s new boyfriend, Lincoln, and are arguing about pizza toppings, and bickering over which place has the best pizza, and Bellamy takes a moment to watch Clarke make a passionate speech about the superiority of pizza crust at Jaha’s, regardless of the creepy owner. He thinks that it’s not really what he expected to get out of this semester of grad school, but that starting an argument with Clarke Griffin was probably one of the best things he’d ever done. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bellarke fic week College AU! Which I took to mean University because I'm Australian... and I just studied doc man last semester for my Information Management/Library Science post grad stuff. Woo. 
> 
> Anna beta'd this so it's her fault if there are any mistakes. She's a guest on the site still. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hi on my tumblr]()
> 
>  
> 
> (is it nerdy to say I picked the title because it sounded like an episode of Community? Sarai, sweetheart, you're already writing ff on the regular for a show about space teens. This is not a question you want to ask yourself)


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